Gone
by Meresta
Summary: Balthiercentric:: Remembering where his fear originated, frightened him more than the fear itself. Based on 'Vox, Silence, Echo', request by a friend, oneshot. Rated M for blood and violence.


**A/N: **This one is requested by a friend of mine not yet registered here (I bet she'll be here soon though!). She wanted to know where Balthier's fear of blood in the fic 'Vox, Silence, Echo' came from, so you can see this as an extra to that story. I was really surprised by how this turned out, as it's much more angstier than I had first intended. If you want to request something, please check the author's note at the end of 'Consideration' (if you're younger than 18 just scroll down quickly x3). Thanks for the request, please enjoy! :Meresta  
**Summary: **Remembering where his fear originated, frightened him more than the fear itself.  
**Rating: **M  
**Warnings: **Angst, blood, self-harm (Cid), language, use of weapons, **this is based on the fanfic 'Vox, Silence, Echo', and I am in no way claiming this to be canon.**  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Final Fantasy XII or Final Fantasy XII; Revenant Wings.

* * *

**Gone**

Balthier rather avoided talking about his past, if he had the choice. He saw no use in bringing up old tales with lessons everyone had already learned, just to fill an evening, or satisfy a friend. This insulted some but the ones who cared, understood, and that was enough.

Still, not talking about his past, didn't make it go away. It didn't stop it from catching up on him at times, making him look over his shoulder in fear, afraid that one day his legs would give out, ending his lifelong flight.

At times like that, he remembered.

He remembered being a child, sitting next to his father as he worked on a miniature engine. He remembered the passionate explanations he used to give him, the sparkle in his eyes and the smile around his lips. Memories of his father, he wished could have remained unstained.

He remembered how his father showed him an airship for the first time, letting him see every single part and piece of the metal-made freedom. He told tales of blue skies and winged people, living in a land no one could reach. He promised himself to one day, build an airship strong enough to withstand the atmosphere, and fly high enough to reach this country of myth.  
Brown eyes of a young Balthier shined in admiration and pride as he listened to his role model, feeling a pull in his heart, _knowing_ this was what he was meant to do.

As he grew older, his father started changing. His job brought him in contact with manufactured nethicite, a stone capable of great destruction. His interests shifted from airships to weapons, and he started working more and more. One evening, Balthier went to wish his father goodnight. When he entered the workspace he found him behind his desk, trying to put something together that looked like a broken gun. When Balthier wished him goodnight, his father did not respond, so he repeated the words over and over again, until Cid snapped and swiped all the pieces of his desk, yelling to his son that he'd heard him _damn well_, and that he should just _go_ already.

After that, Balthier wasn't allowed into the workspace anymore.

Cid worked through breakfast, lunch and dinner, missing every opportunity to speak to his son. Balthier would place his ear on the door to his room, and listen to his father as he cursed and muttered, spoke to something whose name he couldn't quite catch. Day after day, he listened, stood powerless, as his father drifted further and further away.

Late at night, a loud laughter would fill their house, and Balthier would wish lightening struck somewhere close, just to drown out the sound. He would pray for his father to have discovered something good, something nice, and that he would show it to him next morning.

He would hope.

But next morning, the sounds still came from below and when he went down to check, the door had been left open. He peeked inside, seeing his father _clawing_ at the metal, melting it in his very hands, a strange cloud hanging around him. He could see him as he formed iron without touching it, laughing hysterically as he tested new guns _on himself_, firing them again and again and _again_.

Balthier clasped a hand before his mouth to prevent him from screaming as his father bled, and bled. Crimson, thick fluid rapidly spread and created small puddles, drops and smears all over his face, his clothes, his work. Cid continued yelling in joy as he painted everything red, finding pleasure in knowing his creation was working correctly. A few moments later, his wounds would heal on their own, and Balthier would hear him thanking that same.. _thing_.

The madness in his eyes, the shrillness of his voice, the redness of his blood. All were burned into Balthier's mind, and he found his father, _his_ father, to be gone.

One afternoon, he accidentally ran into Cid as he cleaned his hands in the kitchen, Balthier facing away as the sink filled with watery blood. His father would turn to him, smile wickedly, and ruffle through his hair, smearing the remains, ignoring how much his son shivered. Not caring how much his son cried.

There was no one he could go to, he didn't have any other family than his father. Yet he knew that if he should try to approach friends, his father would act like he used to be. Calm, and kind. Everything would be as it was back then, but the sparkle in his eyes was always missing and the stains on his clothes didn't heal as his wounds did.

Sometimes, Balthier was sure he heard him cry. Softly, shortly, but oh so painful. Not wanting to be the person he had turned into, not wanting to do what he did. Despising the metal he worked with, hating the sound of his guns. He would sob silently, in a small moment of realization, missing his wife, his son, his life.  
Then, the same cloud would sink into his skin, and Balthier could hear his father throw the nethicite away, but he was sure it would return to him, because a few seconds later, laughing started. The young boy would hide under his blanket and sing the songs his father once taught him, of wings and eternal freedom.

Then, he fell apart.

On a high of desperation and fear, he left his house with nothing at all, and ran. Not knowing where he was going, what he would do or who he would meet, only knowing that wherever he'd end up; it'd be better than where he came from.

As a life on the streets wasn't that luxurious, Balthier was soon forced into piracy. Some older pirates helped him on his way, and with time, he found his place. He was given the space to be who he wanted to be, so he changed his name and pierced his ears, made himself known.  
Somewhere along the way he met Fran, fate bringing them together in its unbelievable ways, they were probably the best thing happening to one another at that time.

His dreams fueled her strength, her wisdom healed his heart.

Now, this boy is an adult.

He has seen many things, broken many laws and saved many worlds, yet at times he felt as if he was still running. He would retreat, drop his head in his hands, and cry soundlessly. She would hear, as she always hears, and calm him with her presence.

Most of the wounds his past had given him, had healed. Yet one thing remained a scar, still hurting when touched. He would watch his hands at times, when he was messing with the Strahl's engine, and he would see blood dripping off them. He would feel it in his hair, through his clothes, on his skin, see it forming a sea around him. He would drown, images of his father flashing through his mind, until he blinked a couple of times.

And all was gone.

**Fin.**

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Reviews are much appreciated!_


End file.
